


The boom boom boom of your heart

by aprettysmalldose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Stiles, Loss of Virginity, Lots of Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multiple Orgasms, No Angst, Obsession, One Shot, PWP, Season 3 AU, There are feelings in this fic, safe sex, so much porn, some feelings may be present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprettysmalldose/pseuds/aprettysmalldose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~*hisses*</p>
<p>i want a fic in which stiles has no feelings for derek like hasn’t even thought of it as a possibility, because he’s just, well, derek, he’s derek and tbch stiles doesn’t spend much time thinking about him at all since people are fucking dying, y’know, but then someone brings it up, like makes some passing remark that throws stiles and derek into a romantic/sexual light and then stiles cant sTOP thinking about, he goes to bed at night and dreams that derek is sleeping next to him and jerks off to the image of derek wanting him, and by week number three of this new found whatever you want to call it, stiles is a fucking mess and the next time he sees derek in person, derek shoots him a look during a group conversation and stiles meeps~characterdevelopmentwrites~</p>
<p>ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE </p>
<p>with porn 'cause that's how I roll howla</p>
            </blockquote>





	The boom boom boom of your heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CharacterDevelopment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharacterDevelopment/gifts), [Captain_Loki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/gifts).



> From [This prompt](http://captain-snark.tumblr.com/post/58462088192/characterdevelopmentwrites-hisses-i-want-a) by [characterdevelopmentwrites](http://characterdevelopmentwrites.tumblr.com/) via [captain-snark](http://captain-snark.tumblr.com/)
> 
> all i can really say is uh...this fic is sex yea
> 
> GAY PORN FOR THE MASSES STEREK FOR THE WORLD
> 
> Fic title is from _Kill Of The Night_ \- Gin Wigmore
> 
> season 3 au in which Jackson Erica & Boyd no leave / die and Cora still shows up/Heather is also still alive
> 
> ok apparently the spacing on this is gonna be wonky guys sorry but it's late AND I DO NOT GIVE ANY BOTHERS OK

Stiles doesn't remember the exact moment when he just fucking accepted that this is his life now. It must have happened a while ago, because getting panicked phone calls from the pack member of your choice in the middle of the night doesn't even phase him anymore.  He just rolls with it, takes the info down, finds more info (fuck it), finds _all_ the fucking info, does his 'team genius' thing with Lydia (oddly enough--or is it unsurprisingly?--it's Danny who coined that one) and then it's off to the races, places, chasing terrifying shit all over town.

He hasn't paid any attention to his feelings about any particular person in months it feels like, can't remember the last time he had a plotting session about how to make Lydia Martin realize that Stiles is perfect for her, can't remember the last time he just sat down and spent hours paying attention to his dick, can't remember the last time he got off that _wasn’t_ a quick jack-off in the shower or in the bathroom after dinner.

It's just impressions that pass through his mind when he sees them across the hallway, or hears their voices on his cell.

Jackson = ass.  Always.  It’s a universal fucking constant.  Practically the only one in Stiles’ life right now so bizarrely, also comfort?

Scott gets a slightly more complicated burst of love and loyalty and the pull of devotion and warmth and exasperation and _history._

Erica is one part terrified attraction and the other two parts are just terror.

Cora = mini!Hale. Seriously, that's what pops into his head. Not so much mini!Derek but kind of ‘the littlest Hale’?

Peter is a disturbing mix of fear and a desire to prove himself that he just can’t kick.

Boyd is just a random image of an oddly comforting mountain, make of that what you will.

Whenever he thinks of Isaac he thinks of cupcakes.  He fucking hates cupcakes.  He'll still eat them and understands that everyone else loves them and they're great to look at but maybe he needs to stop analyzing his Isaac impression now.

Derek is Derek = annoying and that thing that you have to deal with even though you'd rather not, and also mutual lifesaving!gig.  So sometimes pride?  

Lydia is the usual rush of longing with a genuine dash of pissed off because she _still_ likes to try and play dumb with him.

And Allison rings in on the Stilinski Feels O’Meter with a conflicting mix of both trust and suspicion. Nostalgia also likes to take him for a hit in the gut.  Remember when she wasn’t emotionally manipulated by the psychotic members of her family? So also guilt and betrayal and yeah, thinking about Allison is fun.  And painful.

Anyway, the point he's trying to make is that he hasn't really been thinking of anyone in a romantic context lately. He just doesn't have the time, and if he did it would be Lydia or Erica or--his brain shorts out-- _Jesus_ Lydia _and_ Erica.

Which makes what happens tonight all the more weird / strange / bizarre / out of left field / what the hell ladies?

They're all out in the woods, (this is a normal Tuesday night for everyone now to be perfectly fucking honest) team pack or something, tromping around like the stars of their very own creature feature.  Something new and terrifying, newly terrifying, terrifyingly new is trolling around the preserve snacking on joggers and hikers and one of his Dad’s deputies.  That last means that shit got real and they need to wrap up this fucking mess and gank a bitch so the Sheriff is not the one that gets eaten next.

The fucking thing escapes. Which isn't entirely unexpected, but Stiles knows they're closing in on it. They'll have a plan real soon a la, well.  Stiles.

So they're all getting ready to break for the night, brushing themselves off, swiping at some negligible blood (just a flesh wound) when for no reason (all Stiles was doing was running his mouth about how he thought Alpha werewolves were supposed to be the shit so where is the shit Derek, but that's nothing new) Derek shoves him into a tree, tells him to shut up, and stalks off.

He rants for 10 solid minutes about it as the rest of them hoof it back to their rides.

He's about to climb into his jeep, Isaac and Scott already inside, still going strong when Erica cuts him off with "Oh my _God,_ Stilinski, everyone here knows you fucking love it when Derek shoves you against shit. It's probably why he does it so much."

"I - _what_?" He's flummoxed.  (Real life use for that word who knew?)

"I know right?" and then Lydia is jumping in, at her sweetest and most vacant sounding, which means whatever she's about to say is going to be disproportionately (or is it proportionately?) vulgar, shocking, or hardcore bitch.  Or all of the above.

"Stiles has just been waiting for Derek to hike him up against whatever _hard_ object is nearest and fuck him into the _wood_ work," she does not disappoint with a smirk of perfectly glossed lips and a finger twirled in an equally perfect curl.

But it's really not over until Cora has her say with, "Let's leave the UST _U_ ST ladies, I have enough nightmares, I don't need to add my brother boning Stilinski as one of them."

"Okay," Stiles says, bemused, because that's the word, that's what you are when you're equal parts amused and sucker punched, right?  And gets in his jeep.  He looks over at Scott in the front seat, and Isaac behind him, and they both hold their hands up in the universal male gesture for 'not touching that shit with a 29 1/2 foot pole brah'.

"Ok," he just says again and drives them home, still bemused because, seriously, what?

After he gets back to his house he drops into his chair and just swivels back and forth, thinking.

He can honestly say he's never once thought about Derek in anything remotely resembling that context.  As close as he's come to thinking about any guy in that context was being offended that Danny didn't find him attractive because Stiles is pretty sure he is the walking definition of a twink and that's supposed to be pretty tappable, right?

Does this mean that Derek wants to tap him?

He gives a hiss as his dick, (already half-hard from adrenaline and grateful to still be alive) twitches inside his pants.  Okay.  So apparently he's gonna go there.

He unzips, rifles around for some handy lube, slicks up and gets a helping hand around himself.  He thinks about it idly as he jerks himself off.  Thinks about Derek shoving him up against shit all the time and threatening him and being all in his space because he wants that, wants to fuck Stiles into the nearest available surface. It fucking turns him on, heat and want trailing along his whole body, thinking that he's been having that effect on Derek.  Thinking about how he _must_ look to Derek in that context, pale skin and fragile bones, open-mouthed (Stiles will readily acknowledge he never exited the oral phase of his early development) and big-eyed.  Okay.  Yeah. Stiles _knows_ he's fucking hot, maybe not in the traditional Jackson Jock, or Curly Haired Isaac or Earnestly Hot Scott or well, Boyd (seriously people just need to stop staring at Boyd it's really freaking obvious the whole school wants that action). But he's got it goin' on. And thinking that Derek is getting off on finding him attractive?  It’s making him beyond hot and bothered so fucking fast.

He starts leaking precome from the tip of his cock, his breathing speeds up and so does his hand as he imagines Derek, right now doing the same thing, fucking wrecked because of Stiles, imagining Stiles just like this, and maybe Derek is thinking about _him_ doing exactly what he's doing and thinking about Derek and now it's all getting tangled up in his head, losing the ability to focus, all of it spiraling into heat and flashes of a heavy, hard body pressing against his, shaking with want for him.  He starts swiping his thumb over the slit of his cockhead with each upstroke as his balls tighten, draw up high and then his orgasm slams into him and he comes with a shout, surprised at the intensity, feeling dizzy with it. His cum is spurting over his hand, and he’s able to milk himself for much longer than he's used to.

He collapses back into the chair, spent, dick completely soft but still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure.  He can feel it like it's singing, up and down his spine.

He cleans himself off and drops into bed, and wonders what it would be like to have Derek lying right here next to him, breathing and warm and solid.  Maybe Derek's arms would wrap around him, maybe his hands would trace the contours of his muscles.  Stiles shudders as he imagines just rolling over into him, breathing Derek in, with his pale-eyed gaze, intense and real and here and _alive_.  He feels shaky and feverish as he sinks into sleep.

When he wakes with a raging morning boner to take care of (which he does quickly to the image of Derek's mouth open and panting with want for Stiles), he figures this is something that, while it burns pretty fucking hot, is going to be over quickly because it’s just Derek.  Stiles will get over it and move on to new and different spank bank material.

 

***

 

Two days later, after an exciting high speed jeep chase where the thing is on his roof and trying to claw through to get to him and he's rescued by a double team of Cora and Scott, he thinks he may have a slight problem.

After the three of them talk (nothing is resolved) and go their separate ways (Scott just bought himself a sweet bike and Cora Hale is taking a leaf out of Derek's book and pulling his 'I am a wolf I live in the woods' routine).  Stiles jerks off in his jeep to the adrenaline-fueled image of Derek's lips wrapped around his cock, pale eyes looking up and burning into Stiles' eyes and moaning for it.

After a week has passed, Stiles is willing to give some thought to the fact that he may be slightly obsessed--he just spent forty-five minutes in the shower experimentally fingering himself all soap and slide and friction, imagining it was Derek and coming so hard he slid down the tile into a heap of limbs in the tub.  He may also be firmly in the ‘bi’ part of the sexual category.

By the second week, Stiles can't even manage to sleep unless he's pretending that Derek is lying there next to him, breathing with him, watching him, his fingers stroking up and down Stiles’ spine.

At the end of the third week Stiles is a fucking mess.  Every day passes in a blur, like he's high on something, all the moments seem the same except where he's jacking off to thoughts of Derek fucking mercilessly into him.  He's beyond obsessed, his reason has been overcome, he's officially descended into madness.He feels like what's his face, the Priest Joaquin Phoenix played opposite Geoffrey Rush's pornographic writer.  He thought that he'd know all about being consumed completely by thoughts of another human being, he's been fixated on Lydia Martin for 10 fucking years and it means nothing, not anymore.

He's not just _OB_ sessed he's plain old fashioned _PO_ ssessed _._

***

It all comes to a head (in one way or another) at Derek's loft, during a rare pack meeting in which everyone is present and accounted for.  The whole Scooby gang.  Stiles comes in late ('it's just a pizza party I swear Dad' lying through his teeth and his Father just accepting it which is just fucking _great_ ) jumps in and lays out the beginnings of a plan they can run with.  He's deeply involved, bouncing ideas off of Lydia, fending off Cora’s snark, delegating data sets to Danny and looking to Scott for the (let's face it) moral center's approval (you know his usual) when Derek cuts in, says, "That won't work," tapping the map of the preserve they have set up, "needs to be here," and fixes Stiles with that intense stare he has.

Stiles has only been jacking off and finger-fucking himself (prostates are awesomeee) to that _exact_ glare 3 + times a day for the past three weeks, and he abruptly realizes this is the first time he's actually physically _seen_ Derek in those three weeks.  He thinks he can be forgiven for his body automatically responding to it by his heart leaping in his chest, blood flushing his face and then racing downwards and a sound escaping him which Stiles has no other choice than but to label a 'meep.'

Dead silence fills the loft, and everyone is either staring at Stiles in confusion or studiously not staring at him at all. Peter in particular is gazing at him raptly and Stiles has to resist the urge to tell him to take a picture it’ll last longer Creeperwolf.  Derek's eyebrows are slowly climbing up his forehead.  Stiles swallows.  Hard.  Annnd, he’s out.  He’s got to go.  Stiles Stilinski has gotta leave- _now._

" _So_ yeah, I just realized that my Dad's probably going through my room right now looking for clues and I need to get back ASAP and head of the Sheriffocalypse."  This is not technically a lie, his Dad is probably doing that exact thing right now, but Stiles has made sure he won't find anything, and hopefully his heartbeat has ratcheted up too high for anyone to notice anyway.

"Plan’s good go with it just not in that one place like Derek said laters I’ll text," and then he's practically sprinting out of there Jackson’s, “What the freaking _hell_ Stilinski,” echoing after him, hoping to Christ that the smell of his arousal isn't an actual thing, and if it is that the _8 fucking werewolves_ in the room didn't pick up on it.

He speeds back to his house and almost finds himself weeping with relief when he sees his Dad's cruiser absent from the driveway.  One less lie he'll have to tell.

He stumbles his way up into his room, limbs shaking, and stuffs his right hand down the front of his pants to wrap around his achingly hard and leaking cock as he collapses face-first down onto the bed.  He gets his left arm wrapped around his pillow, sinks his teeth into it and starts pulling himself off with hard, lingering strokes with an uptwist around the head of his cock that brings tears to his eyes.  It's really intense tonight, the memory of Derek's eyes on his, Christ he'd been close enough for Stiles to _touch_ and he's not sure what this is anymore.

He's moaning into his pillow and as he gets closer and closer to the edge he realizes he's moaning Derek's name, over and over and God that turns him on even more, everything fades into white around the edges and he thinks he hears a "Stiles" behind him just before he's coming, coming hard, right inside his pants and shouting Derek's name, his whole body jolting with it.

Stiles comes down with gaspy sobs into his pillow. God it always feels so fucking _good_ like Derek's a fucking drug he's hooked on and using to get high.  Except instead of getting weaker and less it's getting stronger and fucking _more_.

"Stiles," a voice chokes out behind him.

Stiles forgets to breathe.  He lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder, light glinting into his eyes from the tears still clinging to the edges of his lashes.

It's Derek.  Of course it's Derek.  He tries not to whimper and mostly succeeds.  Derek looks shaken and pale, except for the flush high on his cheeks.  He's looking at Stiles with a focus that, quite frankly, is beyond terrifying.

Stiles swallows and feels his whole face turn red.  "H-hey, Derek," he laughs out nervously.

"Stiles," Derek closes his eyes, a look of concentration on his features, then inhales deeply through his nose and his eyes snap open, dark and-hungry looking.

"What," he grits out and then doesn't continue.

"Funny story," Stiles says, "you know how everyone thinks we are just one fuck away from being hotter for each other than Sam and Dean?" Stiles pauses at Derek's blank look then forges onwards.  "Yeah, thought I'd experiment a little bit."

Stiles watches wide eyed as Derek shrugs out of his jacket and says with a weak laugh, "Stiles I can honestly say that I've never thought of you in a sexual context until this very moment."

Stiles feels so cheated all of a sudden. "Wha--you _haven't_?"  And then he gets a little indignant. "Well why not?  And why do you always push me into everything?" He starts to push himself up but every part of his body just stops, heart lungs brain all of it, as Derek kicks off his shoes and socks and- _-fuck_ \--crawls onto the bed over Stiles, body hot and solid above him, just the way he's been imagining for weeks, for fucking _weeks_.

That dizzyhigh feeling rushes back into Stiles' veins and his dick starts to harden again, still wrapped inside his fist.

Derek braces himself above Stiles, arms on either side of his shoulders, and he leans down to draw a deep breath in from the side of Stiles' neck.  Stiles' hand tightens around his cock and he hisses out a breath.

Derek murmurs, throaty in his ear, "You used to remind me of my little brother. He loved to piss me off so bad, and that's just how I dealt with him."

"Oh," Stiles whispers, and then follows up with, "Um, I’m not your brother."

"Thank fuck for that," Derek jokes, sounding relieved.

"Are you gonna touch me now?" Stiles whispers, even lower than before.

"Yeah," Derek whispers right back.

Then his hand is sliding under the front of Stiles' shirt, skimming up his stomach, up to his chest, racking the shirt up to his shoulders with it.

Stiles shudders underneath him, God it's happening it's actually happening, that's Derek's hand and it's fucking huge, it’s burning fucking hotter than the goddamn _sun_. He’s spent hours God feels like that’s maybe _all_ he’s done for the past three weeks, imagining what Derek’s touch would feel like, overheating his body with it, flooding his mind with lust and it turns out he never even came close.  He can’t even describe something as simple as a touch but it’s _doing_ things to him, dropping his stomach out from under him and making him pant, short shallow breaths.  

Then Derek's mouth is on the dip of his spine, his tongue stroking the line of it, sucking on his skin.  He can feel the friction of stubble, long enough to almost be a beard nowadays, sensation and heat where it meets his flesh.

Tremors are running the length of his body, and he absently realizes he's started jacking himself off again, his cock leaking precome almost continuously.

Derek travels down to the edge of his pants, flicks his tongue just under the waistband and Stiles jumps.  "Jesus," he hisses.

Derek slides up, his hand maneuvering Stiles until he's up and kneeling, trapped in between the vie of Derek's legs.  Derek's hands move down to his buttons and zipper as he licks from Stiles' collarbone up the column of his neck and underneath his chin, nipping at the line of his jaw as he does.

Derek's hands succeed in unfastening his pants around the hand Stiles still has stuffed inside of them, working himself off in short sharp strokes.  Derek fists his hands in the combined material of his pants and underwear and pulls them over his hips and down to his thighs.

One of Derek's hands joins his around his cock and Stiles gives a strangled yelp and it takes everything he has not to come right then.  He's sweating and it's getting hard to breathe around the thick, incessant need of his arousal.

Derek's other hand splays on his neck, fingers gripping just under his jaw, and tilts Stiles' head back.

He can feel Derek's mouth resting against his cheek, panting into his skin, all he has to do is turn, and he does, he turns his head.  It's not so much a kiss at first as it is their lips just resting against each other, and then after it's not so much a kiss as it is something that they're each using to try and devour the other.  It's hunger and want, aborted gasps, needy groans, punched sounding grunts.  It's spit and sucking and the clash of teeth. It’s the rasp of stubble against his cheek, the taste of Derek’s tongue down his throat.

It's the best fucking thing Stiles has felt in his life.  He's gonna come so fast, his hips start rocking desperately into Derek's fist, his own hand falling away.  He jerks his hips so violently his ass grinds hard into Derek's crotch and he freezes, feeling the hard line of that cock pressing into him, hot even through the jeans between them.  Stiles is rubbing his ass along it, up and down before he's even consciously thinking of it.

Derek breaks off the kiss and says, "Fuck," voice sounding high and almost whining.

"Yes," Stiles, hisses in answer, " _Yes,_ yes, fuck me, want you to fuck me, wanna be fucked, want your cock inside my ass."

"Shit _Stiles_ ," Derek moans, and then his hands are off Stiles, and he can hear Derek behind him unzipping his jeans, the rustle of the fabric as he yanks them down and off of him.

Stiles twists his neck so he can see and his mouth runs dry at the sight of Derek's cock hard and flushed dark with blood, little pearlescent droplets beading at the tip, jutting up out of a nest of dark thick curls.

He's fucking huge.  "God," Stiles pants as Derek twists above him, pulling his shirt off over his head, and then Derek's hips are moving forward, sliding his cock up and down the crack of Stiles ass hot and heavy, hands reaching up and bruising in their grip on Stiles' waist.

Derek pushes and Stiles falls forward on his hands, Jesus Christ _fuck_ on his hands and knees with Derek fucking _rutting_ against his ass behind him.  Stiles feels light-headed.

"Stiles," Derek says, crawls up over him, rests some of his weight on Stiles' back and asks, "have you never--I mean, is this," and Stiles cuts him off with a forced laugh and fake cheerful, "Nope, still a virgin."

He turns his head, sees the muscles of Derek's throat working as he swallows.  He releases his grip above Stiles hips and slides a hand around to rest the palm over Stiles' heart, feeling the 'boom boom boom' of it as it thunders in his chest.

"I mean," he says thickly, "Have you ever done anything with this," and he trails the two fingers of his other hand gently over the pucker of Stiles' hole.

Stiles finds himself making a sharp keening sound, electricity in the contact.  There are no words to describe how that feels.

It takes a few moments of trying to speak before he gets anything out.  "You mean have I experimented by fucking my ass open with my fingers?"

Derek makes a strangled sound, and he starts dragging his thumb around the edge of Stiles' hole.

Stiles fists his hands in his sheets and continues, "If that's what you mean, then yeah, I have done that, that is something I have done often and really fucking enjoyed."

Derek's hand over his heart starts rubbing in soothing feeling circles around his chest.

Stiles twists himself a little bit to look back up at Derek's face.

"You're going to be really tight," Derek says, "and I'm kind of big--"

 

"Yeah you are," Stiles breaks in with an appreciative leer.

 

Derek soldiers on with "and it's probably going to really fucking hurt Stiles are you sure--" and Stiles cuts him off again.

"Am I sure that I want to be fucked?  Yes.  Do I want to be fucked by you?  Yes.  Almost exclusively so.  Do I want it to happen right now?  Yes, fuck Derek I _need_ it to happen right now fucking _do_ it."

Derek shudders and holds Stiles gaze with his own, pupils blown out so much his pale eyes are almost black.  "If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, or I do something you don't like or it hurts just--" and Stiles cuts him off one last time with "I'll just tell you to stop and you will," he says simply.  It's not an accusation or a threat, it's just a statement of truth.  If Stiles asks Derek to stop then Derek will stop.  Just like if Derek needs his life saved then Stiles will save it, or when Stiles calls Derek will answer.  It's something between them that is always unvoiced but completely understood.

 

"Okay," Derek says quietly, "okay.  Do you have anything?"

Stiles jumps in anticipation under Derek's hands.  "Yeah, there, over by the thing, yeah, in that thing," he says as Derek reaches over to the table and rifles through his drawer to pull out Stiles' always handy lube and Derek raises an eyebrow when he catches sight of Stiles' truly impressive condom collection.

"You know me," he grins and wriggles his ass against Derek's cock, both of them gasping at the contact, "I'm the optimist."

Derek snorts sorts around in the drawer and pulls out the now infamous XXL condom.

Stiles finds it once again hard to breathe.

Derek rips open the wrapper with his free hand and his teeth and that is now the hottest fucking thing Stiles has ever seen in his life, Derek kneeling behind him, body bare and sweating, cock so erect and hard it's hitting his stomach, one hand stroking Stiles’ back and did he mention the ripping open of the condom packet _with his teeth_?

Stiles is so turned on, so aroused and horny, he almost can't stand it.  He pushes himself up a little bit to claw at his shirt and rip it all the way off of him, contorts himself to shuck his pants the rest of the way down.

He watches as Derek rolls the condom smoothly on, slicks up his cock, and then squeezes more lube generously over his fingers and palm. Then those fingers are back against the pucker of Stiles’ ass, rubbing and stroking and slicking him up all around his hole, his other hand resting on Stiles’ lower back.

Stiles twists back around, falling from his hands to bracing himself on his arms, head hanging down, reduced to whimpering, "Please please please," over and over.

Derek's free hand trails down his back to take a firm grip on Stiles' ass, and then a finger is sliding inside of him.  That's Derek's finger, his finger is inside.  It's so different from when he touched himself. He doesn't know how to explain that it's another person, that it's _Derek,_ that it's hot and it burns and already feels foreign because Derek's fingers are larger than his own, so fucking strange and good; everything about this is so strange and good.

 

Stiles feels simultaneously closer and more connected to Derek in this moment right now than he’s ever felt with anyone else in his life and yet so separate, so apart from him somehow.  This moment between them is as unbearably intimate as it is blessedly distant.

Derek takes his time with that one finger, slowly pushing in deeper, gently sliding it in and out and Stiles knows he's probably not ready yet, but he trusts Derek to trust him when he asks in a cracked voice, "More."

He feels Derek dribble lube around his hole around his still inserted finger and then another finger is sliding inside along that first.  That almost feels like three of Stiles' fingers.

It would almost feel-- _full_ \--except that deep down, Stiles knows he's not, not really, not yet.  He gasps as Derek begins to fuck him with those two fingers, can feel the wrongness of it, something pushing in where things are not pushed in, the sensation making him feel liquid and fluid and falling apart.  His cock is bobbing underneath him with every shift his body makes, every tremor as Derek's fingers push back in and pull back out.

Sweat is gathering at his temples and sliding down his back.  "Another," he gasps out.

Derek withdraws his fingers fully this time and Stiles can hear the squirt of yet more lube. It's the three fingers when Derek pushes back in and all Stiles can think about is that it does hurt, and Derek's cock is so much larger than that, but he wants it, he _wants_ it, so he grits his teeth and bears down, his body clenching around them and when Derek makes a low groan behind him he forces himself to relax, thinks about being boneless and then it's easier.

Derek's sliding his fingers further in, feeling around, pushing Stiles to open up and then his fingers brush up against Stiles' prostate and he's jerking back up onto his hands arching his back and sobbing, "There, right there, Derek!"

The next few minutes are a like a tide of lust drowning him.  Derek alternates between stretching Stiles out by scissoring his fingers and pressing against Stiles' walls to stimulate his prostate.

Stiles alternates between praising Derek and cursing him, between ordering him and begging him.  At some point Stiles realizes he can hear Derek's breathing behind him, loud and ragged.

Stiles has had enough of the waiting.  His body can take it.  Or it can't and he'll take it anyway because he _fucking wants it_.

"Derek, fuck me."

"Not yet," Derek gasps.

Stiles takes that as a challenge.  "I want your big, hard, cock inside my tight, wet, virgin ass.  And I want it right now,"

"Damnit, Stiles," Derek curses him and keeps going, but the deliberate rhythm is gone, his fingers are shoving inside Stiles harder, deeper.

"If you don't fuck me _right fucking now_ I’m going to get myself off again with myself _by myself_ and leave you behind and wanting so _fuck_ me Derek fucking put your dick in my ass and--" Stiles voice cuts off as Derek snarls, "That's what you want, that's what you're going to get," seizes his hips in that bruising grasp again and jerks him backwards right onto his cock, and it's pushing against his hole, so much larger than the three fingers, then the head has popped through and it's inside him and the rest of Derek's cock follows so fucking hard it doesn't feel like flesh at all feels like iron red hot and burning and fucking splitting him open.

Tears slip out of the corners of Stiles' eyes and roll down his cheeks.

"Tight, tight, fucking too tight, _breathe Stiles_ ," Derek gasps behind him and Stiles heaves in a breath and breathes it out.

"Again, keep breathing, Stiles, _fuck_ , tell me if you can't take it, don't try and suck it up," Derek says and Stiles breathes again and deliberately again, trying to resolve the pain into pleasure.

His cock is flagging, and even the breathing he's doing seems to hurt.

His tears almost taste like shame because he can't do it he can't take it and he's about to open his mouth to beg Derek to take it out when the pain sort of--floods away.

Stiles gasps with relief, tension leaking out of his shoulders and back and trembling thighs, Derek's cock in his ass feeling more like tool for pleasure and less an instrument for pain.

That wasn't so bad, he thinks and turns his head back to see that Derek's taking his pain away.  He gapes for a moment and then chokes out, "That's fucking brilliant. I should have thought of that."

Derek smirks at him around a small grimace of pain.  Stiles fumbles backwards with an arm to wrap his fingers around Derek's wrist.  "You don't have to if it hurts too much," he starts and Derek shushes him.  "I'm the alpha, Stiles. I can take it, especially since I’m the one giving it to you in the first place."

"How did I know you were going to find some way to say 'I’m the alpha'," Stiles accuses after a moment or two of silence.

Derek grins and rubs up and down Stiles back with his magic werewolf hand, the movement causing his dick to shift inside Stiles.

Stiles feels his eyes go wide and an his mouth drop open in an 'o' shape.  " _Oh_ ," he says lamely.

"Yeah?" Derek asks roughly.

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, and his dick twitches with interest again against his thigh.

Derek keeps one hand gripped tight on Stiles' hip and the other he trails up Stiles' spine to grab onto his shoulder.

" _Yes_ ," Stiles hisses, and Derek pulls out, and thrusts shallowly back in, even that gentle push rocking Stiles' whole body forward.

With most of the pain gone Stiles can feel what he's been _waiting_ to feel, full and fucking owned and _complete_.

"More," he gasps.

Derek pulls back out and into him in a slow rocking motion, each thrust opening Stiles up further and further.

Desire starts curling low in Stiles' belly again, friction and heat, and God the sound of Derek’s cock fucking him, it's--God--that's what _porn_ sounds like.

"More," he demands, voice stronger, cock hardening up again.

Derek's thrusts speed up, his dick starts fucking into Stiles deeper.  Stiles thinks he can feel it with his entire body.  It feels good.  It feels like, "Fuck," he says, and "more," he groans.

Derek pulls out and pauses, "Do you need me to keep taking your pain?"  Stiles thinks about it and feels Derek ease off of the werewolf mojo.  It's a low burn now, a sweet sting that has him feeling stretched and open in his very core.  He wants it, he wants to feel every single part of this.

"No," he murmurs, "I want all of it."  He feels the ache when Derek lets go and revels in it because this is what he wanted, all that Derek has to give him.

"Fuck me," Stiles says, "fuck me like this whole time, ever since you met me you haven't been able to think about anything else."

Derek's hands tighten on him and then he slams back inside Stiles.

Stiles, there's no other word for it, he _howls_.

"God fuck yes," he cries as Derek starts pounding into him, his thrusts rhythmic, his balls hard and heavy hitting against the backs of Stiles' thighs.

It's a burn and an ache, it's friction and slick heat, it's the hard unyielding length of Derek inside him, thrusting over and over.

He's drowning in it, he'd never thought to ask about things you could drown in besides water, the 'slap slap slap' sound of their flesh meeting, the harsh pants of Derek's breathing and his fucking cock inside of Stiles _fucking him_.

Stiles is drowning in the sounds he finds his own self making, these 'ah ah ah' gasps that are forced out of him each time Derek fucks into him.

"Does it feel good?" Stiles asks in between thrusts.

"So good," Derek answers immediately sounding, Jesus, sounding ruined, "you're so fucking _tight_ all slick and hot and taking it so good for me, you're so good, fuck," he groans.

"Derek, fuck me harder now, okay? I want you harder and more and _now_."

"Argh," Derek grunts out and then he's driving into Stiles, driving him down into the bed, _Stiles is being fucked into the mattress_ , the headboard knocking against the wall, springs creaking; their breaths an alternating staccato beat.

Stiles gathers himself and reaches up to latch onto the headboard, gets some leverage and pushes himself back to meet Derek's thrusts and when he does that the head of Derek's cock hits up against his prostate and pleasure bursts behind his eyes.  He thinks he's wailing as he does it again and again and again, as Derek works with him, makes sure to hit that spot each fucking time.

His cock is jerking out precome as it hits up against his stomach with each thrust.  Everything is pleasure and Stiles finds it hard to breathe around the sharp edges of it, vision loosing focus; everything narrowing down to the heat that's pooling low in his stomach, gathering down in the base of his spine, in his toes and along his arms.

"Derek, Derek, fuck, I’m gonna come, touch me, please touch me," he cries, so close, how can this next thrust and this next one not be the ones to push him over the edge?

"I've got you," Derek groans as he reaches a hand around Stiles to take a hold of his cock, jerking him off hard with the timing of his thrusts.

"Yes yes yes," Stiles shouts in ecstasy and then he's coming coming and gone, orgasm rolling over him like some primal force, shooting out onto his bed in jets of cum, his whole body straining, jerking and yearning, trying to take take take get get get.

Derek fucks him straight through it, doesn't let up at all as Stiles feels himself clench down on Derek's cock, something many-petaled and bright blooming behind his eyes.  

 

Stiles comes back to himself piece by piece, loose limbed and pleasure sunk into him bone-deep.  His breath feels fragile and sounds shaken.  He feels fragile and shaken and bright in his core.

Derek is making these --grunting-- sounds, high and needy, his thrusts are erratic; he's close.

Stiles' hands slide off of the headboard and he collapses back down onto the mattress, bracing himself up on his forehead and elbows.

Derek seizes him with both hands around the hips again, and hauls him back into his thrusts, pulling him flush against him, fucking him fast and shallow.

"Come on, come on, come on," Stiles groans, "fuck me, fuck me, come, come on."

Derek shouts and grabs at Stiles' chest, pulls him up onto his lap, Stiles' back flush against his chest.  He wraps one arm around Stiles' waist and grabs Stiles' jaw with the other hand, turning his face towards Derek.  Their mouths meet, sucking and desperate, tongues delving deep inside, stroking each other and tangling around.  Derek's fucking him hard, Stiles can feel the working of his stomach and hips against his back, feel his chest heaving for air.

Christ, he's starting to get hard again.  This position has Derek's dick not so much hitting his prostate as just dragging the head up and down against it.

His ass aches deep inside and everything is friction and spiraling out of control.  Stiles can't tell how long they've been like this, their bodies soaked in sweat and taking and getting everything they possibly can from each other.

As Derek's cock drags so hard against his prostate Stiles thinks his vision strobes on and off like a light, he gasps out, voice broken and ( _Jesus_ that's what he sounds like, that's what Stiles Stilinski sounds like when he’s being well and truly fucked), "Derek, Derek, I’m gonna come again, fuck, _fuck_ , don't let me go."

"I've got you." Derek’s voice is hoarse in his ear, hand holding Stiles' face still as Derek pants against his cheek.  His other hand travels down to Stiles' cock, and gives it a few strokes and then travels lower to fondle his balls, tears starting to leak out of the corners of Stiles' eyes again.

Then Derek's hand moves even lower and under to where he's fucking into Stiles’ hole, and he slides a finger in around the edge of his cock.  It's, _God_ , it's, "Too much too much too much," he whines out, vision graying at the edges.

Derek immediately pulls it out murmuring, "Sorry sorry sorry," pressing kisses against his cheek, his jaw, under his ear.  Derek's hand grasps Stiles' dick again and stays there jerking him off, moving faster and faster, God it's so much, too much but not enough, so sensitive and hard and ready and then abruptly he's coming, mouth open but completely silent, white fields and white noise aware distantly that Derek has wrapped both arms around his midsection, jerking his whole body up and down as he fucks up into him faster faster faster and everything is too much pain and not enough, too much pleasure and not enough.

With a strangled yell Derek pushes them forward until Stiles is flat on the bed underneath him, Derek's hips working and frenzied down into his ass and then he stills and groans, pulls out thrusts down again and holds before doing it again and this time staying, cock pumping inside him.

They stay like that for a long time, breathing synchronizing as they ride out their aftershocks and (at least in Stiles' case) tremble at each other's pleasure.  Eventually Derek softens and slips out of Stiles, who winces.  Yeah, he is gonna feel that in the morning. He shifts minutely and moans, oh _fuck_ he feels it right now.  That is gonna hurt.

Well.  Stiles knew the virginity had to go but what a fucking way to go.  Ha.  Fucking. Way to go.  Nice one Stilinski.

After a moment Stiles becomes vaguely aware that Derek has gotten up and disposed of the condom.  He disappears into the hallway for a minute and the sound of running water starts and stops and then he re-emerges to gently clean off Stiles with a warm wet rag and then himself.  Stiles loses track of him for a little bit or so, thinks Derek's been busy cleaning up and airing out the room, he isn't sure.  His afterglow is probably visible on Mars.

Derek's hand running through his hair brings him back, and he opens eyes he hadn't realized that he'd closed to see Derek shadowed above him with all the lights off.

"Hey," he whispers, and leans forward to drink half the glass of water that Derek holds for him, settling back on his sheets with a sigh.  Derek sets the glass on the nightstand and crouches down before him, hand back to stroking through his hair.

"You want me to stay?" Derek asks.

Stiles thinks and says carefully, "I want you to, but only if you want to.  If it bothers you, then no."

"I want to stay," he whispers.

"Yay," Stiles cheers softly, "now get in bed, I need sleep to happen now."

Derek snorts but complies, climbing over Stiles to get to the other side of the bed.

Stiles immediately turns into him, just like he's been imagining every night for the past three weeks, feels his skin, warm and smooth against his, Derek’s hands tracing patterns along his arms and back. He hears his breathing and the 'boom boom boom' of his werewolf heart, thundering in his chest; solid and real and _alive_.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> STEREK STEREK STEREK STEREK [Tumblr!](http://rizuno.tumblr.com/) STEREK STEREK STEREK STEREK


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